


Ease the Pain

by seashadows



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: LiveJournal Prompt, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones pops his shoulder out of joint. Spock helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ease the Pain

  
Staying silent wasn’t really an option at the moment. Spock understood that; it was logical to make noises to alleviate pain when one was hurt, and McCoy had already bitten his bottom lip all the way through in an attempt to silence his groans. His left arm hung at an angle, having been dislocated at the shoulder when, running to escape a pursuing animal, the doctor had hit a rock wall. “Goddamn,” he said, his voice low, “if I had my medkit, I could get a hypospray and fix some of this.” This litany wasn’t unfamiliar to Spock, as McCoy had been reciting variations of the same phrase for the past thirty-one point two seven minutes.   
  
Spock checked his communicator again, if only to provide some sort of visual reassurance. No, the communication function was still disabled from the same rocks that had temporarily incapacitated McCoy – he had thrown the device, neglecting Vulcan strength for once, and it had missed their pursuer. Clearly, emotional distress had lowered his normally flawless accuracy, although why he would be more concerned over the fate of McCoy than of any other crew member’s, he didn’t know.   
  
“Still not workin’?” McCoy asked, one eyebrow raised. “Thought so. God _dammit_ -“ his arm jostled as he moved himself into a more comfortable sitting position, and he gave a low hiss of pain. Spock instinctively moved towards him, but checked himself; it wouldn’t do to give the doctor the erroneous assumption that he found him any less illogical than usual. “Oh – oh _god_.”   
  
“Are you in pain?”   
  
“Fuckin’ arm feels like it’s rippin’ off and he asks if I’m in pain,” McCoy growled. His face had turned an alarming pale shade, save for the red of the lip he’d bitten bloody. “And don’t you dare start with the ‘illogical’ shit, ‘cause I don’t want to hear it.”  
  
“I am not going to call you illogical.” Spock had been _planning_ to do so, but even he knew that it was unwise to compound another’s pain with what he or she construed to be an insult. “Will you permit me to examine your arm?”   
  
“Think _I’m_ the goddamned doctor here, Spock.” Another wince from McCoy. “You’d end up fuckin’ up the whole thing.”   
  
“Negative. I am trained in basic field aid and have taken several courses in anatomy. I assure you that I am perfectly capable of examining your injury without causing you undue pain.” Spock was unsure why he wanted to touch the doctor, _or_ why he was worrying about how not to hurt him. “By my calculations, rescue may take up to two standard hours, and it is illogical not to allow another to alleviate your discomfort.”   
  
“Huh.” McCoy made an incredulous noise, but gave a sigh that sounded acquiescent. “Fine. But if you make it worse, I’ll hypospray you into next week when I get my medkit back.” His accent, normally suppressed to a certain extent, had come out due to the strain of his injury. For some reason, Spock found it fascinating; he had never before had an opportunity to hear a ‘Southern drawl’, as it was termed, before he met McCoy.   
  
As gently as he could, Spock touched the injured shoulder and tried to ease the collar of McCoy’s shirt down over it, eliciting another moan. “I apologize.” McCoy’s shoulder had clearly swollen to a level that made even mild touches painful. “May I tear your shirt? Your shoulder would be more accessible to me.”   
  
“Go ‘head.” McCoy’s eyes were closed, and his dark eyelashes were stark against his pale cheeks. “God knows Jim rips his damn shirt all the time.”   
  
Privately, Spock concurred – who, exactly, was Kirk trying to impress? Taking the fabric of McCoy’s shirt in his hands, he pulled it apart until it tore; he was barely able to suppress a wince of his own at the sight of McCoy’s shoulder. It was swollen and red, a knob of bone prominent under the skin. He touched it with the very tips of his fingers – sensitive as they were, this was not the proper time to refrain from touching – but, even in the crude examination environment, managed to ascertain that the only damage would be strained ligaments. Of course, that hinged upon the shoulder being put back in place as soon as possible.   
  
As though sensing his thoughts, McCoy spoke again. “I shoulda popped it back in when it got dislocated in the first place. Damn stupid of me.”   
  
“If you are not averse to the idea,” Spock suggested, “I will reset your shoulder.” The pain that McCoy was experiencing, educated as the man was in medicine, likely clouded his mental clarity. Spock was the logical choice to fix his injury.   
  
McCoy opened his eyes and blinked slowly at him. “Y’know how?”   
  
“Indeed.”   
  
“Fine. Do it, then.” McCoy said, and eased himself up into a sitting position. Spock took his arm and bent it at the elbow, easing it in close to his body, then moved it straight up.  
  
With a pop, the shoulder joint reset. McCoy hissed in through his teeth, his good hand clenching into a fist. “ _Shit_ , ow, oh, son of a _bitch!_ ” His eyes squeezed closed for a moment, and when they reopened, Spock was surprised to see that they were shining. He had thought that the resetting would have eased McCoy’s pain, but clearly, the swollen muscles didn’t agree.   
  
A method _did_ exist by which he could ease such pain, now that the arm was back in position. “Doctor,” he started, rather tentatively, “may I attempt a mind-meld?”   
  
“Attempt a what now?”   
  
“A mind-meld. It is a Vulcan procedure, by which I would telepathically connect with you so as to alleviate the pain of your injury.”   
  
McCoy was silent for twenty point eight six seconds, and Spock was about to conclude that he would refuse; it was, after all, a foreign procedure. “Guess the best source of pain relief’s in the brain,” was his surprising answer, which came with a shrug of his uninjured shoulder. “Don’t fuck around with anything else.”   
  
Spock nodded. It was strange how quickly McCoy had capitulated, but for some reason he was _glad_ about it. He slipped an arm around the doctor’s shoulders (all the better, of course, to support him should emotional transference occur) and, placing his hands on the psi points, murmured “My mind to your mind – my thoughts to your thoughts.”   
  
_Spock?_ McCoy’s voice was clearer in his own mind than it had sounded for the past forty-five minutes, unclouded with pain. _Are you in my head?_   
  
_Yes._ Spock closed his eyes, concentrating, and sent McCoy an image of a tricorder. _Where is your pain concentrated?_   
  
_Just here. Goddammit…_ Suddenly, Spock’s own shoulder was aching – the ghost of a hurt concentrated in his deltoid and subclavius muscles. _Fuck. You gonna make it stop?_   
  
_I would ease any pain you possess._ Spock blinked; where had _that_ come from? His mind, on rare occasions, was a strange and illogical place. Still, the flow of his thoughts would not be stopped. _You are most important to me._  
  
Silence, then something that sounded like a mental chuckle. _You wanna kiss it all better, you green-blooded hobgoblin?_   
  
Unbidden, as though compelled by his own subconscious wishes, Spock leaned forward and pressed his lips to the injured shoulder. The skin was cool there, pleasantly so. _I have just done so._   
  
_Dunno about **better** , hobgoblin._ McCoy’s mental voice was amused, despite the shiver of pain that made its way into their connection, _but I appreciate the thought._   
  
_I apologize._ Spock sent him an image of a healthy shoulder to make up for his transgression, then concentrated hard. McCoy’s pain appeared as a cloud across his mind, dark and ominous as a storm. _This can be dissipated._ He imagined a small figure, half-Vulcan like himself, standing in the middle of the cloud, his hands scattering the particles of pain.   
  
_That’s more comfortable._ The turmoil dissipated, as did the sharpness of McCoy’s mental voice. _Never thought I’d say this, but thanks. ‘S’nice._ His slurred thoughts, along with a deepening weight in Spock’s arms, alerted him to the fact that McCoy was falling asleep. It was only logical; injuries required time and rest to heal, and the doctor had already worn himself out from the rest of the away mission.   
  
_Sleep_ , Spock urged him. _I will watch for predators._   
  
_Mmm. Might take you up on it._ The connection faded into a sort of pleasant fog, drifting lightly in Spock’s head, before disappearing altogether.   
  
It was then that Spock took the opportunity to look at McCoy. In sleep, his normally tight-set mouth and jaw were relaxed, his lips soft. A healthy color had returned to his cheeks, against which his eyelashes provided a pleasing contrast. Most attractive, despite his temper and sharp remarks.   
  
“I would ease any pain you possess,” Spock repeated, slowly, realization slowly brightening the dark plains of his mind. Was McCoy a sunrise, then? “As you would do for me.”   
  
It was there that Kirk found them an hour later, with McCoy in Spock’s arms, his head resting on the Vulcan’s shoulder. “Oh, thank _god_ ,” he whispered to Spock with a big grin, “you got him to go to sleep. I bet he’d never stop bitching at me for ‘abandoning’ –“ here he made air-quotes – “you guys if he was awake.”   
  
“You presume correctly, Captain,” Spock told him, his voice just as quiet.   
  
“Would you mind doing that every time he’s a grouchy-ass? Just get him to go to sleep?” Kirk winked at him. “It’d do me a ginormous favor.”   
  
At the thought of getting to do this more often, a corner of Spock’s mouth involuntarily twitched up. “Certainly, Captain.”   
  
Kirk had no _idea._


End file.
